


Truth or Dare

by brosephine-grant (dollinkdollink)



Category: Succession (TV 2018)
Genre: F/M, kind of a mixed trick or treat bag, probably a lot of ooc but it's been sitting on my computer for a month daring me to post it, some feelings, some smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-24
Updated: 2019-11-24
Packaged: 2021-02-18 08:02:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21541033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollinkdollink/pseuds/brosephine-grant
Summary: “I thought we could play a game.”“A game?”“Yeah, a game, a party game.  I was thinking Truth or Dare.”The words are ridiculous, a typical Roman farce, but as always there’s another layer underneath them, a desperate neediness that speaks to something else, something far more serious.
Relationships: Gerri Kellman/Roman "Romulus" Roy
Comments: 7
Kudos: 104





	Truth or Dare

**Author's Note:**

> Just in time for Thanksgiving, it's... Halloween themed fic! I wrote this in one sitting while passing out candy on Halloween night, then sat on it for a month out of fear that it was too OOC, but I decided I had to make myself post it before I could start writing Christmas fic. Feedback is very welcome!

She’s three episodes into a true crime docuseries when she’s startled by a knock on her door, loud and insistent.

She doesn’t want to be murdered like this, she thinks - in her late husband’s too-big sweatpants, in a t-shirt she’s spilled a bit of her martini onto, in a pair of ridiculously fluffy pink socks.

The knock comes again, a little softer this time, and it morphs into a tune she vaguely remembers from her daughters’ childhoods - the theme to Ghostbusters, if she’s not mistaken.

Christ. Roman. A serial killer might have turned out to be better company after all.

He’s leaning casually against the doorframe when she answers the door, dressed in all black, a demented smile on his face.

“Trick or treat!”

“Well I already know which you are. What are you supposed to be dressed as, a serial rapist?”

“Why, did you order one?”

He looks her up and down then, from her messy bun to her pink fluffy socks, in that way he has been lately - his lips too smirking to be innocent, but his eyes to wide, too soft, too bright to be entirely filthy. It’s those eyes that have been her undoing, lately.

“You can come in for a minute, but only because I don’t feel like explaining to my neighbors why they shouldn’t call the cops on you.”

He’s investigating the place from the moment he’s through the door, leafing through junk mail, dusting off old picture frames. They usually do this kind of thing in hotel rooms, or over the phone. They’ve never been in each other’s homes - she can’t quite believe he even has a home, that he doesn’t just roam the streets all night like a stray dog looking for trouble.

“I don’t suppose you have any candy?”

She nods her head in the direction of the bar. “You can make yourself a drink.”

She retreats back to the living room and considers muting the television, then decides against it. Whatever he’s come here expecting (and she’s certainly got a big enough imagination to come up with a few ideas), she doesn’t think it’s a talk about business. Let him fight for her full attention.

He finds her quickly enough, his drink in one hand and a second for her in the other, and she knows the basic act of thoughtfulness shouldn’t count for so much, but from Roman it counts for everything.

“What are we watching? Is it porn?”

“I certainly hope not, or you’re an even sicker fuck than I thought.”

 _So it begins_ , she thinks, but he surprises her, setting his drink down on the coffee table and lying down beside her where she’s seated on the couch, his legs hanging off of the armrest, and the top of his head just barely pressed against the side of her thigh.

They watch the television screen in silence for a long while, the only sounds the droning voice of the documentary narrator, the ticking of the hallway clock, the swish-swish of his pants as he swings his legs back and forth - and then finally his thoughts manage to align themselves into something resembling an intelligible sentence.

“I thought we could have a party.”

“A party?”

“Yeah, a Halloween party. A small one, just you and me.”

“Is that really a party?”

He doesn’t answer that, scrunches up his shoulders instead. “I’ve been to a couple of Halloween parties tonight already. Two with Tabitha, one with Kendall. They didn’t really feel like parties either.”

She doesn’t ask what happened to his girlfriend or where he left his brother, just like she doesn’t ask him why he wound up at her door.

“And what did you have in mind for our party?”

“Well, we’re part of the way there - good drinks, good company. I was hoping for some better music, but this bullshit documentary has a kind of dark synthy murder beat that I’m kind of into if I’m being honest.”

“Yeah? And what else did you have in mind?”

“I thought we could play a game.”

“A game?”

“Yeah, a game, a party game. I was thinking Truth or Dare.”

The words are ridiculous, a typical Roman farce, but as always there’s another layer underneath them, a desperate neediness that speaks to something else, something far more serious.

‘Dare’ is easy enough, she thinks - she’s been daring him this whole time, daring him to jerk off on the other end of the phone, daring him to jerk off on the other side of the door, daring him to grind himself against the desk in her office while she pretends they’re both on a conference call. ‘Truth’ is something different, something they’ve both been too afraid to touch until now.

Well, it is the holiday for fear.

“You go first, then. Truth or dare, Roman?”

“Dare.” His voice is soft, and it sounds far away despite coming from right beside her. He has to work up to it, then, to whatever he wants to say, to whatever he wants to hear her say, to whatever he really came here for.

She thinks there’s very little she could dare him to do, now, that he wouldn’t do for her just as willingly any other day of the year. She knows that’s a power that he trusts her with, and she knows that it’s something she has to be careful with.

She’s spent a long time thinking about this thing between them, more time than she’s really comfortable with. She thinks part of what he needs is permission to be vulnerable, for someone to start peeling back all of those protective layers that Logan Roy has forced his children to build.

The answer comes to her then. “I dare you to take off all of your clothes.” It isn’t an order - it isn’t one she would have felt comfortable giving him, not until she was sure it was what he wanted - but he hops to it anyway, toeing off his shoes and socks, standing up to unbutton his shirt, to unbuckle his belt and unzip his trousers, to slide his pants and boxers down over his slim hips. 

He’s so damn scrawny, and pale, and still mostly soft. If they were different people, she thinks, he wouldn't have so much trouble meeting her eyes. If they were different people, she would be able to tell him that she thinks he’s beautiful.

She feels her face flush at that thought, and she clears her throat, takes a long sip of her martini. “So I guess it’s my turn now.”

His voice is surprisingly steady. “Yeah. Truth or dare?”

She’s curious to know what truth he wants from her, but she knows he’s still not ready for that yet. “Dare, I guess.” It’s dangerous, either way, giving him this much power.

He finally meets her eyes, and he waggles his eyebrows at her, although he’s lacking some of his usual cockiness. “I dare you to kiss me.”

She’s not sure what she’d expected. She stands, somewhat shaky on her feet, and comes to stand very close to him, close enough to feel the heat of his bare body.

“Not a bullshit peck either, a real kiss.”

Her lips curl themselves into the beginning of a sharp retort, and then press themselves against his instead. It isn’t a good kiss, exactly - she’s hesitant to push him too far, and he seems unsure of himself as well - but it feels comfortable in a way that takes her by surprise. She isn’t sure what to do with her hands, given the circumstances, and settles for resting them lightly on his shoulders, her palms slightly clammy against his soft skin.

She hums contentedly, then pulls back slightly to signify that it’s over. “Your turn now,” a little breathless, “truth or dare?”

He hesitates for a moment, then answers “dare” again, and she finds herself growing impatient.

“Tell me why you really came here.”

He pouts, and really, it’s unfair that it should cause such a reaction in her. “That’s a truth, not a dare. That’s against the rules.”

She lets her voice become That Voice, the voice on the other end of the phone, the voice on the other side of the door.

“It’s whatever I say it is. They’re my rules now.”

It has the desired effect. “I wanted to see you,” he admits, “I got sick of all of those bullshit people at those bullshit parties. I got tired of trying to pretend to be a normo.” He lets the rest go unspoken - _I don’t have to pretend with you_.

“That’ll do for now,” she says. “ I guess I’ll take truth as well.”

“What are you getting out of this?” He’s too quick with it, too eager, the words tripping off of his tongue.

“What am I getting out of-”

“This?” He gestures to the small space between his naked body and her clothed one. “This whole thing.”

“The same thing as you, Roman. I just have the decency to wait until you get off the phone.”

She can’t tell if he’s surprised by that; the next words are already tumbling out of his mouth. “Sure, sure, but you know what I’m really asking.”

“Then ask it on the next round.”

He sighs dramatically. “Fine, I’ll pick truth I guess, if it doesn’t matter.”

“See? You do learn quickly.” She thinks again of all the things she’d like to ask him, all of the puzzle pieces she still can’t slot into place.

“Why did you ask if we should get married?”

“That was stupid. Forget it. I don’t know why I said it.”

“Rome…”

“To get you to stay, I guess. That’s why I do it, apparently. That’s what Tabitha says, anyway.”

That seems like a conversation for another time. Instead, she steps in a little closer, rests both of her hands firmly on his chest. “I’m not going anywhere, Roman. Do you believe me?”

“Yes.” It’s too automatic to be the truth.

“I’m here because I want to be. Because I like you, Roman, and Lord knows I’ve known you long enough not to be scared off by any of your juvenile antics. I can’t promise you that one or the both of us won’t fuck this up in a million different ways, but I can promise you that you won’t fuck it up badly enough that I’d abandon you when you needed me.”

She can tell that he’s somewhat uncomfortable, as he always is around direct affection, but she can feel some of the tension leave his body. “Is it your turn now?”

“Yes.”

“Truth or dare?”

She’s still not ready to think about his other question, about what she hopes to get out of this - whatever “this” is - so she answers “dare” instead.

He licks his lips, and the mood changes. “Show me how you do it.”

“Do what?” She asks, heart racing, even though she knows the answer.

“How you get yourself off. After I hang up the phone.”

It’s only fair, she thinks. He is standing totally naked in her living room, after all.

“Okay.” She moves away then, sits back down on the couch, angled just so with her feet braced against the coffee table.

“This was where I was when you called me, you know. That first time.”

“Uh-huh,'' he replies, distracted, watching as her hand disappears beneath the waistband of her sweatpants. 

“I was so disgusted by you,” she says, slipping a finger between her folds, wet and sensitive. “I hated you for making me so disgusted by myself. With the filthy things I said to you. With how turned on it made me.” She slips the other hand under her shirt, pinches one nipple, then the other, hard and then soft. “The last person I want to get wet for is a revolting little slimeball like you.”

He doesn’t need her permission to start stroking himself; he knows the change in her voice by now. He watches, wide-eyed, as their arms move in sync. She knows his usual rhythm, knows he likes it fast, that he’s going slow on purpose now so that he can draw this moment between them out for as long as possible.

“It’s lucky you finished so quickly, I don’t know how much more of you I could stand. About the only thing you know how to do is play with your cock, you’re such a useless fuck-up in every other conceivable way, aren’t you?”

“Yes”, he hisses. Despite his best efforts, she can tell that he’s close, and she’s not very far behind him.

“But when you hung up I couldn’t touch myself fast enough. You’re like a diseased animal, Roman, it’s like you’ve given me your fucking rabies, you worm infested dog.”

“Hmmm…” he moans, loud and frantic, and she’s edging around her clit, avoiding putting on too much pressure, so close to the point of no return.

“All I could think of was this, of fucking myself while you watched, totally in my power, making you cum for me…”

That’s all it takes for him, and she lets herself give into the moment, her fingers moving hard and fast until she’s spasming around her hand as he spills himself across his chest and belly.

It’s a sight, for sure, but the bigger sight is the look on his face, the naked wonder and relief.

“Come here,” she says, voice gentle now, as she grabs some tissues and cleans up the mess as best she can. There’s that silence again - the rustle of the tissues, the ticking of the hallway clock, the crime documentary now on episode five, maybe episode six, long forgotten.

“Truth or dare?” Roman says finally, and she shakes her head with a little smile.

“That was my turn, Roman. It’s your turn now. Truth or dare?”

“Dare.”

“Stay here with me tonight.” She knows it’s a big ask, that he’ll probably sleep as far away from her side of the bed as possible, that he’ll probably steal the covers. Still, she thinks it’s something that will probably be good for both of them.

“Okay.” He begins to slip on his undershirt and his boxers, and leaves the rest in a pile on the floor. “Your turn again. Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” She thinks she’s ready for that other question now, and in a way she gets it.

“Is this enough for you?” _Am I enough for you?_

She stands, and places a soft kiss on his lips. “Yes.”

He smiles, warm and hazy, and it’s more than enough.


End file.
